Dark Sanctuary's
by BlackLadyCharon
Summary: [Crossover with Devilman]  Harry finds a mentor in a supposedly broken down church that teaches him a bit about life and seeking redemption.  Oneshot, nonslash


Author's Notes: This one… is a kind of weird, wistful one that I'm still not entirely sure how the idea came about. Watching too much Devilman downloads probably. So once again, poor Harry gets crossed into that. This piece is totally unrelated to 'A Nest of Devil's' and is going to stay that way, although I may do a series based on it once I get around to finishing one or two of the other's. Please review if you read this, I like knowing if I did it right.

Disclaimer: Kalliope the Mewthree: Authoress-Mama doesn't own Harry Potter or Devilman, they belong to J.K. Rowling and Go Nagai respectively. Authoress-Mama is in no way, shape or form making money from this, so don't sue her, please.

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Dark Sanctuary's

By: BlackLadyCharon

The church had been there for as long as anyone could remember, and had been abandoned that long as well. Most people never even gave it a glance, since it looked rotting and decrepit, a place that anything valuable had long since been stolen from. Harry often wondered what was in there, though. After all, appearances can be deceiving. No one would believe he was a wizard just from looking at him, after all. So, close to the end of the 13th year of his life, Harry Potter took to hanging around the outside of the place, working up the nerve to go in. It was probably the safest place for him in the country other than Hogwarts, since Harry doubted that Voldemort would come looking for him in a place dedicated to God.

_-Today's the day.-_ Harry thought, placing his hand on the doors. _-I've wondered about this place forever. Now, I'm going to find out what's in here.- _He pushed the doors open with caution, turning around to shut them before actually looking around. Harry managed to restrain the urge to drop his jaw and gape stupidly around him. The inside of the church didn't match the outside at all. It looked like services were just about to start, as if the place had never been abandoned to time and desecration. The pews were lovingly polished, cut from some dark wood, the floor swept and scrubbed until the paler wood glowed in contrast. Yet, there were things wrong with the picture.

Harry's eyes swept over the stained glass windows. They showed images of demons killing and possessing humans, though there were some that seemed possessed instead. Carnage rained across the glass, red almost obscuring some of the nastier images. The last window, behind the altar, showed what looked like a traditional demon and a demonized angel standing facing each other, as if ready to fight. Harry looked down from the scene, mind flickering over the traditional objects found at the front of a Christian church, to stare in horror. He was vaguely aware of a scream trying to tear its way out of his throat, but stuck there at the same time.

A woman's, no a teen girl's, severed head lay on the altar. The features were Asian, the long brownish black hair serving to pillow the stump of her neck from the altar cloth, her eyes closed. Harry had the hysterical feeling that she'd been there forever too, and wondered just what kind of church he'd walked into. There was a feeling that the whole place was insanely out of time and space, a place that was so desecrated it could never be holy again.

The scream found its way out when a hand dropped onto his shoulder.

"What are you doing here, boy?" The cold, calm voice seemed to cut through Harry like a knife, freezing everything. He slowly turned his head, to face a guy a few years older than himself, probably seventeen to his almost fourteen. The guy had the striking features of a mixed race, blonde hair and blue eyes though his accent and features were somewhere from Asia. He was wearing a priest's robes, but under that, a plain white t-shirt and white jeans that almost covered white sneakers. Somehow, the color looked wrong, tainted on him, but right at the same time. For a moment, the stranger's eyes widened, and something almost akin to hope seemed to slide into them.

"Akira-Kun?" Harry shook his head, and the older boy sighed. "Forgive me. You… reminded me of someone very… dear to me. He died shortly after we had a terrible quarrel, and I've never felt right since. I keep expecting him to come back here." A wistful smile crossed the blonde's face, almost making Harry shiver. "Even though I know he never will. Please," He gestured for Harry to take a seat, sitting in one of the pews nearby as he did so. "make yourself comfortable. I'm Asuka Ryo, the keeper of this place." Harry bowed his head politely.

"I'm Harry Potter. Um…" Ryo smiled, though it didn't reach the cold, haunted eyes.

"Welcome, Harry-Kun. You're the first in many years to brave this place. Perhaps you'll come and visit again? I get lonely, here by myself." Harry found himself wondering what Ryo was. Nothing human, that was for sure, though humanity must have been the base being he came from. Still, Harry got the sense that Ryo was desperately lonely, and needed a friend.

Somehow, he found himself talking about everything. His problems with the Dursleys, his magic, how Voldemort was chasing him. There was something about Ryo, the way he sat there and patiently listened, that made Harry feel at peace. After he'd run out of things to say, Ryo tilted his head to the side, smiling a little, secretive smile.

"If you want, I can help you out. Teach you things Wizards and humans alike have forgotten. Things that might give you an edge against your enemies." Harry narrowed his eyes, wondering. There had to be a catch, a price. Somehow, he knew with Ryo, there always was.

"And your price for this help?"

"Nothing more than your company when you're staying with your Aunt and Uncle. An hour a day that isn't filled with my teachings. An hour where we just sit and do nothing." Harry frowned, then nodded. It was a small price. After a bit, when Harry had left, Ryo went up to the altar, looking down at the severed head. He sighed, kneeling down to rest his head against the altar.

_-Am I doing the right thing, Makimura-Chan, Akira-Kun? Can I find the path to finally resting by helping this boy? God, he reminds me of you, Akira-Kun. I hope I don't end up corrupting him the way I did you. And that if I do, I botch it as efficiently as I botched corrupting you wholly.-_

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Harry had rapidly learned to be grateful for that hour of doing nothing that Ryo wanted. The blonde was more relentless than Snape while training Harry. Still, unlike Snape, Ryo would praise Harry when he got whatever he was learning right. It more then made up for the bruises, smashed glasses, and magical mishaps. Healing had been the second thing Ryo had taught to Harry. Surviving the first five seconds of a fight had been the first. Harry ducked another energy charged punch, rolling across the floor to throw knives he'd transfigured from dust in the air at Ryo. The blonde youth smiled, batting them away.

"Much better, Harry-Kun. Come on, its rest time now." They sat in their respective pews, idly chatting. Harry mentioned the Quidditch World Cup, then explained the game to the fascinated Ryo. He wondered how the other guy would take the fact that he was leaving for most of the year, but Ryo took it in stride, disappearing to reappear with some books that he suggested Harry read, as well as a translating charm. After the hour was up, Harry left, promising to come and visit the instant he could when he got home.

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Harry sighed, scrubbing his face as the train pulled into the station. The Quidditch World cup had been bad, the school year worse. Bad things seemed to happen to him on even numbered school years at Hogwarts, so he'd have to watch out in 6th year. The DADA teacher had been a Death Eater using polyjuice, he'd gotten entered in the Triwizard tournament, and Cedric Diggory had been murdered right before his eyes. Voldemort was back in a living body. Though apparently the old Snake hadn't expected to be hit with the '13 Knives of Despair' Harry'd thrown at him wandlessly. Having that one listed amongst his spells would probably land him sucking face with a Dementor. Well, when one took the Crucio, combined it with a weakened anti healing spell, and designed it to give the effects but not the escape into madness of Crucio off and on for the next 13 years…

Yeah, it was a pretty sadistic spell. Well, if Voldemort won, at least he'd have ten years constant reminder of Harry's existence through that spell. Harry smirked, and then sighed. Ryo brought his Slytherin side out, something Harry almost wished would stay dead and buried.

Still, the spells weren't listed as Unforgivables, so they were pretty cool…

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"Come on, Harry-Kun! If you can't even hit me, how do you expect to fend against Dementors should they attack you again!" Ryo was in a mood. Had been ever since the Dementor attack. That had been Harry's first clue that whatever Ryo was, it classified as Dark. Waking up to see someone you counted as a mentor and friend removing a Dementor's head with his bare hands tended to bring that idea up fast. Particularly when you coupled the image with the sheer, feral joy on said person's face as they were doing the head removing. Ryo had started teaching Harry energy throwing spells, as well as teleportation and shielding. They were currently demolishing the underground graveyard that the church had. Ryo had just shrugged when he brought Harry down there, saying it had been there before he'd taken up residence in the church.

After plowing through a few more crosses, Ryo announced that it was rest hour, and they both slumped against the nearest cross that they could find. After a bit, Harry asked the question he'd been holding back from the day he first met Ryo.

"Ryo, what are you?"

There was a moment of true, dead silence, followed by a soft sigh from Ryo.

"I… can't tell you that, Harry. It's part of the condition for me training you, and living in this church. I'm sorry." Harry just nodded, then told Ryo how Dumbledore would probably have trouble finding a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor that year…

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Harry blinked. Looked at the High Table. Blinked again. And laid his head down on the table with a soft moan. He knew what was coming this year. DADA was going to **HURT**!

"… Professor Ryo Asuka, who has graciously offered to fulfill the role of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Miss Delores Umbridge…" Harry noticed he wasn't the only one annoyed by Umbridge's blithe assumption that she could waltz in and take over. Ryo's fingers were twitching in the way that Harry had come to associate with energy bolts, and Umbridge kept jumping slightly. Harry wondering if Ryo was doing some kind of static shock, then decided it really wasn't something he wanted to know.

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Hospital wing ceiling. Harry blinked, trying to recall what had happened last. First DADA class. Ryo had hauled them outside to get a better idea of their skills. Harry had gotten called last since he was Ryo's protégé at home. Running, screaming, threats. Whomping Willow. Ah, that was why his head and back hurt. Free, painful flying lesson.

Though someone, probably Hermione, Ron, and Ryo, had bought out 90 of Honeydukes for him.

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This. Outrage. Would. NOT. Be. Tolerated.

Harry stormed into the teacher's lounge, hand still dripping blood from where the cursed quill's spell had failed to seal up when confronted with his own magic, and thrust his bleeding hand practically in Minister Fudge's face while showing it to Dumbledore. Dumbedore's eyes lost the twinkle, Ryo's head had come up, scenting blood on his prize protégé's form, and Fudge had gone white. Harry heard himself practically hissing, using some words that Ryo had taught him when he couldn't convey his disgust in English.

"If that Gaki Onna assigns me detention with that blood writing quill of hers again, they'll have to do muggle surgery to get it out of her ass. I've read the current damn rules. The Gaijin Gaki has no right to use that thing on me." He turned and stalked out, still snarling as he headed for the hospital wing.

For the next month, anytime she was near Ryo, Umbridge had the most fascinating variety of accidents anyone could think of.

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"SIRIUS!" Harry screamed as he saw his Godfather heading for the veil. Ryo had joined the youngsters in their little Ministry raid, and had told them exactly what it was and what it did. Harry reached out futilely to try to save Sirius, knowing he wouldn't get to him…

"ACCIO SIRIUS BLACK!" Ryo's voice rang out, power pouring into it like a broken dam into a lake. Sirius was yanked forward, flattening Bellatrix Lestrange, two Death Eaters Harry didn't know, and ironically, Ryo himself when they both hit the wall. Ryo stood with a dazed look, shook his head, and then charged off into the fight, apparently deciding that fists would now settle this better than spells. Harry felt himself able to breathe again.

Sirius would be alright.

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Voldemort aimed his wand, and Harry felt a sense of resignation. He was going to die. He'd failed.

"Avada Kadavra!" The spell jetted forward, a green beam of death…

And slammed into Ryo's back as he flung himself between the spell and Harry.

Harry stood there for a single second, though it seemed like an eternity. Part of him registered that Ryo wasn't dead, that his mentor was coughing up enough blood to drown a small child, but he wasn't dead. Then, bloody fury overwhelmed everything. Harry pointed his wand in Voldemort's direction, rage building and back building into a firestorm of power just begging to be unleashed.

"Death is too good for you, you monster. I'll teach you the meaning of hell." A binding spell froze Voldemort in place, and Harry, oblivious to his struggles or his friends horrified looks as they came upon the scene began to call out.

"_Father of All who dwells in the Sky_

_Listen to this broken one's cry._

_Punish this man before me now_

_Show him why to you we bow._

_Sinner is he, to strike at an innocent_

_Harshly bind him, with no chance to repent."_ The power struck in a whirling mass of light and darkness, Voldemort's agonized screams echoing from it. Harry paid it no mind, kneeling down next to Ryo, who grinned weakly through the blood he was still hacking up.

"Ryo, you're gonna be okay…" A weak shake of the blonde's head.

"No. Take me home, Harry-Kun. This won't kill me, but I won't recover from it either. Take me home, lay me at the altar. Let… me… rest…" Glazing over blue eyes slowly closed. If it weren't for the faintest rise and fall of his chest, one would think Ryo dead. Harry bowed his head, silently vowing that he would indeed bring Ryo back to the church he called home.

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The years hadn't really changed the place, Harry thought as he strode in. Yes, he'd changed. His hair was as white as Dumbledore's had been now, his glasses so thick he thought they looked like drink coasters. But the church never changed. Ryo never changed. He'd discovered the truth of his mentor years ago, but could never bring himself to regret it. His children and grandchildren and great grandchildren knew part of the story, but not all of it. His first great great grandchild wasn't old enough to hear the censored version yet. Harry stopped, eyeing the form that had, over the years, shifted slowly to the true, demonic being that Ryo had become. The only change in the church. He smiled, placing the offering of flowers he'd brought on the altar. Black lilies were expensive in the wizarding world, but they were the only flower that suited the place. He smiled, talking down to the sleeping God of Demons.

"Wish you could meet my latest descendent, Ryo. I think you'd take to him. Aria and Kaemon named him well." He paused.

"His name is Akira. Fudo Akira." As he turned to leave, Harry was unaware as a single wing twitched, and Ryo's eyelids moved, the dreamer beginning to slowly haul himself awake.

Perhaps redemption was possible yet.

-FIN-

Well, you like? Hate? Wonder what's going on? Review and tell me so.

To translate what Harry called Umbridge:

Gaki Onna --- Onna means woman, and a Gaki is a kind of low level Japanese demon, famed for eating corpses and dung. Really pleasant thing to call someone. Not.

Gaijin Gaki --- Similar to the above, but I believe the polite translation for Gaijin is 'foreign barabarian'.


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